


but home is nowhere

by anonjaime



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst and Humor, Blue Balls, Brother/Sister Incest, Cock Tease, Dysfunctional Relationships, F/M, Mutual Pining, Sibling Rivalry, Twincest
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-10-05
Updated: 2017-10-16
Packaged: 2019-01-08 23:54:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Underage
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,299
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12264642
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anonjaime/pseuds/anonjaime
Summary: Being Jaime is suffering.





	1. Avalanche

"Wanna try that?"

He didn't understand at first. He lazily turned his head towards his sister, who looked transfixed by what was happening on their giant ass TV screen. They had been watching a movie for quite some time. Well, _Cersei_ was watching it. Jaime's eyes were glued to the Game Boy in his hands _—_ Pokémon Diamond just seemed so much more fun than a dumb movie about dumb people doing dumb things he didn't understand. What he _did_ understand, though, was that Cersei looked extremely interested in what was currently happening on the screen _—_ a man and a woman that to a seven year old Jaime seemed way too serious about... eating their faces out?

" _That._ " She pointed at the screen. "So, wanna try?"  
Jaime shot her a puzzled look. "Why do you want to eat my face?"

She chuckled. "It's grown-up kissing, silly. It's what adults do when they really like each other... and stuff."

 _Grown-up kissing, huh._ He wasn't dumb, he knew what she was talking about. Hell, he technically _did_ kiss someone, and that someone was currently sitting next to him while he was struggling to take his eyes off the game he was playing and try to focus on what his sister meant. From his point of view, he knew all he needed to know about kissing; brushing their lips together to imitate their parents had become natural and pressing his mouth to his sister's before going to bed was some kind of little ritual they never missed since they started doing it a couple of years before.

Cersei scooched closer to him and took his right hand, pushing his prized Game Boy on the carpet. _Thank the Gods for the carpet or dad would beat my butt black and blue._ "I promise it'll be good, Jaime. You can trust me." _I can trust her. I'll always trust her, she's my sister.  
_

"C'mon Jaime, you're still too far away. I can't reach your face like this." Jaime complied. "Okay, good. Now open your mouth." Jaime awkwardly parted his lips, waiting for more instructions.

"Stick out your tongue," Cersei commanded without missing a beat. _My tongue?_ He thought his confusion showed on his face because his sister rolled her eyes at him. That, or she was a mind reader. _Why would I stick out my to—_

Suddenly Cersei's mouth was on his, open as well and her own tongue tentatively licking his, and he had no time to think about what exactly he was supposed to do.

Jaime licked back, unsure about how to proceed, so he just slowly explored, and tasted, and tried. He thought the texture was interesting. _Tongues are interesting... and slippery.  
_

He put more force into it, swirling his tongue around Cersei's, who let out a little moan. _Is she liking it?_ The thought of pleasing her like a man would stirred something in his groin but he didn't quite grasp the meaning of it. Then a warm, little hand on his shoulder, pulled his body closer to hers. _I'm doing good!_ He was sure, _extra sure_ , that he was impressing her twin, so he tried to put more enthusiasm in the "grown-up kiss", as she had called it first. He grabbed her hair _soft, so soft,_ and closed the distance with his mouth on hers.

He ended up biting her lip, drawing blood. He didn't hate it. He was sure, _extra sure_ , that she didn't either.

 

* * *

 

_Fuck me.  
_

He woke up with a start, sweaty and sticky and bewildered. _Sticky. Fuck._ He threw away the sheets and hurriedly checked the sorry status of his underwear. _Did I really just bust a nut from a PG rated dream?_ He kicked off the soiled boxers that landed unceremoniously next to the bed and made a beeline to his desk, not caring about his still semi-hard cock being in full display. _Thank the Gods for locked doors and soundproof walls. Thanks the Gods for being filthy rich.  
_

He turned on his laptop, page already opened and fingers ready to word-vomit his increasing frustration.

> _Twinbro here._  
>  _> tfw just had another dream about her_  
>  _> was the most innocent, vanilla shit we ever did together_  
>  _ >feel like fapping my dick raw now_  
>  _> what do, guys?_

It didn't even take a minute. In the last few months, his threads had become a staple of the board, even though the replies were more or less all the same.

 _ **Just fuck her already, man. It's getting sad even for us.**_  
  
**_> hot sister_**  
**_> twincest_**  
**_still don't believe you. post tits already or gtfo._**  
  
**_You sound like a normie AND a Chad. Literal trash.  
_**

**_dick pics when? are you fapping right now? timestamp_ **

**_More details on your sis pls_ **

**_> mfw this has become my home thread now_ **  
**keep doing the lord's work son**

Jaime threw his head back. A pounding headache was coming up for sure. _No, I can't "fuck her already", dumbfucks. Christ.  
_

He literally couldn't. He hadn't seen his sister in person in what, six years? They were just eleven when their mother caught them in Cersei's room, naked and giggling and tickling each other. _We weren't even doing anything_ , he thought, annoyed. And they actually weren't, or at least Jaime thought that what they were doing didn't warrant the massive freakout their mother had.

At the time, Jaime had woken up startled, his pajama bottoms wet and stained with a strange white, sticky stuff. He instinctively ran to Cersei to tell her that his body was malfunctioning or something. _We tell each other everything, it's always been like that. That'll never change._ Jaime told her that something was wrong down there and immediately wanted to show her where he thought the problem was, so he got rid of his pajama bottoms as fast as he could. After Cersei curiously inspected his little dick and determining that nothing was wrong with it, she stripped off her night clothes to show him how her body had changed too. " _That just seems fair, sweet brother."_

He looked at her intently to assess their differences. The moment he saw her budding, perky tits and _that_ short strip of light blond hair he felt his willy get bigger but he made nothing of it. Instead, he started laughing and pointing at Cersei's little tits, telling her they were nothing compared to their babysitter's. Cersei frowned. _"You know you won't get anywhere with that thing if it doesn't grow, right? No woman will want you. Ever."_ Why would he need a woman when he already had his sister? It seemed pointless, he thought, but didn't tell her.

Instead, he started poking at her ribs, which turned into some very naked tickling match, which turned into their mother Joanna catching them in the act. Horrified (Jaime never understood why), she ordered her son to gather his clothes and hurry to his room. He could still hear her yelling at Cersei through the halls but couldn't make out what she was telling her. _We haven't done anything._

Next thing he knew, it was morning and he was packing all his belongings. His parents were sending him to Crakehall _so Lord Sumner would straighten him up once and for all,_ without even allowing him to see his sister for the last time.

> _OP here. Fuck you guys, helpful as usual. Should I even bother to update you fucks anymore?  
>  _

Jaime closed the tab and opened another, furiously typing out the same string of keywords he had been using for years _(blonde amateur teen girl)._ He grabbed his cock and sighed.

It was going to be a fitful night.


	2. Scar Tissue

Jaime was getting antsy. No, Jaime was already, definitely antsy. Scratch that, that didn't even cover half of it. Jaime was anxious as shit. He felt like his skin was about to fucking shed.

He'd always hated waiting. His left leg had been restless for the whole trip back home, thumping like a crazed jackhammer, and sitting idly didn't help him at all at easing his errant thoughts. The boy hadn't been home for years, after all, save for that time when his father allowed him to go back for his mother's funeral. The circumstances were entirely different, though.

For starters, at the time it was only, _exactly_ one month and thirteen days since he'd been unceremoniously shipped off to Crakehall. The memory of his mother's face, silently chastising him for something he would've never understood even later in life, was still imprinted in his mind. Back at Casterly Rock he wasn't allowed to see Cersei, of course, as his father Tywin thought that meeting his sister would have weakened his resolve. _That is just_ not _fair,_ Jaime thought. _We did nothing wrong. They still think it was wrong._ His blood boiled, but he reasoned that being bitter would be a hopeless exercise.

He saw few relatives during his brief stay: his little brother, Tyrion, his father, uncle Kevan and his cousin Lancel were the only faces that didn't melt together in a blur of similar features and golden hair. It was through a couple of agitated conversations that Jaime gathered murky details on his mother's death – _"It was that little freak, the_ Imp _, he was just playing her. He's been playing all of us!" "How could she never notice? All this time..."._ But mostly, what he got out of that was that Tyrion had unwillingly but definitely secured for himself a permanent and life-long premium place on his father's shitlist.

With Jaime gone, and Cersei giving her the cold shoulder for his departure, Joanna's motherly affections were almost completely focused on her youngest son. At seven years old, Tyrion still hadn't said a word and that worried her greatly. It didn't take much to turn the tables in her favour, though: if Jaime knew something, it was that his mother was the only person in the world that somehow managed to put a smile on Tywin Lannister's perma-stoic face. _She's magic._ And so, father dearest begrudgingly gave in to his wife's pleas to bring the same child he barely acknowledged as his own ( _"How could my seed be complicit in creating such a creature?"_ Jaime heard his father say once to his uncle Kevan) to a speech-language therapist.

It happened a few sessions later, on the way to Tyrion's doctor. A tragic accident, they said. Tyrion had a light concussion and made it out alright save for a prominent scar across his face due to the front window shattering all over him - _a memento from the Gods_ , their father spat out. _You shall never forget what you did._

The worst part was that Jaime knew that Tyrion could and _did_ talk. Often, too. He'd been speaking to Jaime since he could remember, and if anything he couldn't shut up. He just didn't want to talk to their parents, apparently, _for reasons_. He never told him why and Jaime didn't ask. But the proverbial shit just had to hit the fan, and it did when their younger cousin Lancel let the not-so-secret secret slip to his father. At that point it was only logical that Tywin would know too, and soon he did.

The funeral was the last time Jaime saw his brother before going back to the happy place he dubbed Crake _hell_. He wondered for a moment what Tyrion had been up to, with his father on one side and Cersei on the other. _She never liked Tyrion. Maybe she'll tell me why, one day.  
_

And one day here he was, leg threatening to dig a hole in the floor, waiting for someone to pick him up. _Someone. Why didn't anyone bother to tell me who was? I hate uncertainty. They don't know me anymore, and I don't know them.  
_

A hand on his shoulder and an unfamiliar, manly voice interrupted his musings. "You the Lannister boy?"

Jaime turned around. _What the fuck?_ "And who are..."

 _"You, the proud lord said_ , blah blah blah", the guy cut him off with a cutting grin. "Yeah, everybody knows that song. Fucking Lannisters, I could find one of you yellow-haired cunts in a goddamn crowd. And even if that wasn't the case," he continued, amused, "this _shit,_ bloody hell." He pointed at the embroidened golden lion on Jaime's hoodie – a gift his father sent him for his 17th birthday. "This shit right here? Not something I'd call subtle, lad." Jaime silently agreed. He held no particular feelings for that hoodie – although admittedly it was a very expensive one – but aside from the obnoxiously large animal on its back screaming _look at how important and famous I am! LANNISTER LANNISTER LANNISTER!_ he didn't think it was that bad.

Jaime finally took a good, long look at the guy who approached him. He couldn't have been much older than Jaime himself. A couple of inches shorter and curly jet black hair, styled in the most ridiculous pompadour he'd ever seen in his life. _This dude reads his JoJo, alright._ Adding to the pile of clichés, he was clad in a black leather jacket, zipped up all the way to the top, and faded, wannabe-rockstar jeans. _And there's the cigarette, of course. Guess it fits the image.  
_

"So, what do you want from me?"

"Don't get funny ideas, pretty boy. I was told to get your arse home safe and sound." _Who would have asked for this kind of guy? Dad? Makes no fucking sense. And Cersei would never spare half a look for someone like him. That leaves..._

"My... brother?" Jaime tentatively asked.

"Guess you're not as dumb as you look. He's waiting for you outside. That little imp is one eager son of a bi–"

Jaime didn't care to let him finish, he didn't need to hear more. "The name's Bronn, cunt!" he heard him shout after him. Jaime grabbed his duffel bag and suitcase and ran outside the airport as fast as he could, trying not to trip on his feet and embarrass himself. It was the last thing he wanted right now. _Where is he?_ _Where's Tyrion?_ His vision was foggy. He hardly remembered his own hometown and the world seemed to close in on him mercilessly. _  
_

"Big Brother? Jaime?"

Jaime turned his head, as if those words had woken him up from a deep slumber. A fourteen year old boy who was unmistakably Tyrion was looking at him with pure joy in his mismatched eyes, smiling from ear to ear. His facial scar healed nicely, he thought. _He looks like a proper badass._ Jaime felt a surge of pride. _  
_

"Tyrion!" Jaime exclaimed, before enveloping his brother in a crushing hug. "You look so... grown-up." His younger brother now had a full hair of golden curls. Jaime could swear he looked taller.

"Never as grown-up as you'll ever be, bro," Tyrion replied, self-deprecating. "And never as handsome. Now let's get you home before Father finds a new reason to hate me today." _He's calling him Father now? More news, huh.  
_

Bronn, who had been watching the exchange from a distance, approached the over-excited siblings. "Ready to get the hell outta here now or do you lovebirds need some more space?". He sounded exasperated. Jaime found himself enjoying his uneasiness.

"Just start the car, Bronn." Tyrion hopped in the car he was leaning against, some no-name old thing Jaime didn't recognize and that could only belong to Bronn. No way in hell the proud Tywin Lannister would lend a suspicious-looking stranger one of his precious vehicles, and knowing his father he wouldn't even look twice at something that busted up and _pleb-tier_.

"Aye aye, sir," Bronn replied. _What is this guy doing with Tyrion anyway?_

Tyrion snapped him out of it, again. "I'm warning you out of love, Jaime," he said, half-jokingly. "Things have took a turn for the weird and shitty while you were out doing whatever you were doing. Emphasis on the shitty. Double emphasis on the weird." _  
_

Jaime chuckled. "I spent years at Crakehall, little brother. Our family can't be that scary."

"You have no idea, man." _Point. I have no idea.  
_

A thirty minute ride from the airport to Casterly Rock meant some time to spare to collect his thoughts. But first, Jaime fished out his phone from the right pocket of his jeans and went straight to the bookmarked board.

 

> _Twinbro reporting in._   
>  _ >met my little brother again_   
>  _ >heading home right now_   
>  _ >just remembered that I'm finally gonna see her again_   
>  _I'm not ready, lads. But I also can't fucking wait. I don't understand myself._

_**POST PICS OF THE SISTER YOU FLAMING FAGGOT  
** _

_**you're literally autistic man, either that or you're making this shit up. appreciate the dedication to the craft though  
** _

_**7/10 made me believe you but at this point we need proof.  
** _

_**Relevant updates fucking when?  
** _

_**> all this cockteasing  
DELIVER OR GTFO** _

Jaime stifled a laugh. Tyrion, who chose to ride shotgun, looked back at him quizzically. Jaime just shook his head, signalling that nothing was going on.

"So," he started, trying to introduce _the_ argument. "How's Dad doing?". To tell the absolute truth, Jaime couldn't care less about that. His father was a goddamn Highlander for all he knew. "And... how's Cersei?"

Jaime knew he was treading delicate waters. No, he was walking on the thinnest fucking ice ever. He knew how much Cersei disliked Tyrion, and he concluded that his brother couldn't feel any differently.

"Ah, yeah." Tyrion scratched his head and gave him an unreadable look that, to Jaime, might have meant anything. "You definitely need some more prep time for that, brother."

_What?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Had originally planned to end it with Jaime meeting Cersei but shit got out of hand and here we are.


	3. Flesh, Bone And Weakness

They'd been stuck in traffic for almost an hour. Jaime wanted nothing more than to sneak in a power nap before facing the inevitable but Tyrion's words echoed in his brain, taunting him. _Prep time. Prep time. Prep time. Prep time for fucking_ what _? What could have happened while I was gone?_ He bit his knuckles nervously. _Someone would've told me if it was a big thing, right? Yeah, it's probably some stupid shit._ Skin broke and he tasted iron _. Tyrion's just fucking with my brain because I wasn't there for him, that's it._ _  
_

"By the way, brother," _There's more?_ "You're crashing at _la Casa de Tyrion_. Well, technically and financially it's still Father's house, but I barely see the man anymore and he probably couldn't be happier about that. And I like calling it that way, adds a little... _oomph_ to the whole arrangement. Chicks dig it," a sardonic laugh that hid something more. "Just like scars." He lightly traced the one that marred his face.

"So it's gonna be you, me and Cersei in the house?" Jaime beamed, unable to contain his excitement. It had been so long. "A big Lannister kids reun–"

"Curb your enthusiasm, brother." Tyrion cut him off. "It's gonna be just you and me. For a while, at least." _Here it goes. He's starting to defuse the bomb._ Jaime braced himself for impact. "I'd lie if I told you I was sad about it, though. Cersei's been a monumental bitch for years, especially to me, to the surprise of literally no one." Tyrion shrugged, as if Jaime should've already known that with him gone their sister would let totally loose. "And to be honest with you, the happiest moment of my life was seeing the door shutting after her ass. I know it's only temporary but fuck it, I will thoroughly enjoy this unexpected slice of sister-less heaven while I still can. A man can dream that the dream will last, can he?" Tyrion sighed, wistfully _._ "I swear you're the only one here who's gonna be happy to see her, dear brother."

Jaime couldn't offer any good comeback to that simple but undeniable truth. _  
_

"So... brothers bonding time. Cool with me, we got a lot of catching up to do." Jaime's fingers tapped his knee rhythmically, a pervasive question eating at his brain. "But uh, when is she coming back from... where did you say she's gone, anyway?" He tried his hardest to seem disinterested but he knew he was shit at it and he knew that Tyrion knew that he was shit at it. _Perceptive little fucker._

"I _didn't_ say it." _Right. Focus._ "She's on a sabbatical or whatever she called it. I don't think she knows what that word actually means." _On her last year of high school?_   "With her boyfriend." _Sabbatical... her boy_ –what _?_ "Oh no, wait for it, we're getting to the good part now," Tyrion continued, merciless, putting all the mockery he could muster in that final word, "her _fiancé._ " _Wait, what?_

Tyrion anticipated his reply, probably for the better. "Yeah, I know. I don't really keep up with her, but this? Unescapable, I tell you. The talk of the last few months. Even Bronn here heard about it and he couldn't care less about our brand of 'daddy-issues crazy', as he so elegantly likes to remind me 24/7." Bronn gave him a curt nod, keeping his eyes on the road.

"She was supposed to come back home a couple of days ago but I guess she felt the need to extend her little vacation. Or couple time. Whatever." Too much information and Jaime's brain was already shutting down. Tyrion kept babbling about 'kids these days' as if he wasn't a kid himself, but Jaime's ears barely registered some muffled words, as if his brother was talking to him from a far away room. Tyrion shook his head. "–want my opinion, a change of scenery can only do good to her and to the general population." He managed to catch part of a sentence, at least.

"I'm sorry man, I'm just trying to..." Jaime rambled. He was struggling with his thoughts and felt each one of them sharply stabbing his temples like little, stubborn icicles. "I'm just trying to get this. I..." Jaime took a deep breath, steadying himself. His skin prickled. "So, Cersei isn't home." _One down._ "And she has a boyfr– _fiancé_." His words exuded disgust but he realized it a little too late. He hoped that Tyrion wouldn't notice.

But his brother did, in fact, notice. He turned his little body to look at Jaime, something like pity in his eyes. Jaime decided that he didn't like that look. "Father arranged that to secure some political alliance or something. I'd tell you more but I haven't been let in on the details. Cersei didn't seem against that, though. That Rhaegar Targaryen guy is unnervingly handsome and our sweet sister does like owning pretty things," he uttered with more than a little contempt.

"Rhaegar Targaryen?"

Jaime was pretty sure he had heard that surname before but his brain was refusing to cooperate. _Who in their right mind names his kid like that? Sounds like a random mashup from an anime character name generator. Or if someone drunk off his mind smashed the keyboard blindfolded and just decided to go along with it because fuck it, there's no time._ He could barely identify what he was feeling. It wasn't shock, or surprise, or anything he'd ever felt before. Alright, so his sister was seeing some boy. Man. Whatever. No big deal, it's the normal thing to do. Right? Right. Nothing out of the ordinary. People date all the damn time. And Cersei was a person _,_ an adult _–_ not the little, curious girl he remembered from their childhood days at Casterly Rock. She could date whoever she wanted to date. She could fuck whoever she wanted to fuck. _She_ is _fucking whoe–_

Jaime's stomach churned ominously. _I'm about to throw up a storm in this shitty ass car and Bronn's gonna knock my teeth off for ruining the interior of his precious crappy chariot.  
_

Tyrion sensed his discomfort. "Well, the prep time was exactly for this. I'd tell you to take a seat but..." He gestured at Jaime, mildly amused. "You're already seated."

"All hail Tyrion Lannister, the King of Bantz."

"I do my best with what I got, dear brother," Tyrion quipped back, not missing a beat. "And I don't have much."

The conversation died down on its own and they fell into a comfortable silence. Jaime looked out of the window on his left; if memory wasn't failing him they were close to their destination, but the ride was still far from over.

 _Let's kill some time._ Jaime rummaged through his backpack and turned on his laptop. _Do your magic, Google_. 'Rhaegar Targaryen' gave him results in hundreds of thousands. _There you are, you famous son of a bitch._

The first link led to a Facebook profile and Jaime immediately clicked on it. He frowned: Rhaegar Targaryen wasn't how he imagined him to be. He wasn't even what he imagined Cersei's type would be. To Jaime, he resembled a scrawny ferret who fought a fruitless war against a bottle of peroxide and miserably lost. His facial features were delicate, more delicate than any man Jaime had ever seen, and maybe a couple of women too. His spotless face was framed by long, silver hair.

But the page hadn't been updated in more than a year and it didn't offer much info other than a profile picture and a birth date confirming that Rhaegar Targaryen was six years older than him, so Jaime closed the tab without a second thought. _Next. Next. Next._ Articles about a few harp competitions _–_ apparently the guy had been a child prodigy _–_ and then some more articles about charities linked to the Targaryen family. Nothing that captured Jaime's interest.

He switched to Google Images and was hit by a truckload of pictures. Paparazzi candids. Modeling shoots. A two years old profile on Model Mayhem of all things, no bio, but with the obligatory shirtless shots. _This guy's BMI is so fucked,_ Jaime mused, looking at Rhaegar's thin frame, protruding ribcage and lack of muscle mass _._ He went through the results as fast as he could. An Instagram profile, _silverhaireddragonprince_ , littered with artsy black-and-white photographs. Always alone. _  
_

Jaime's eyes were getting cloudy _–_ his attention span had always been mediocre at best. He slapped his own cheeks to stay focused. Pictures, pictures, more half-naked pictures. _What's the target audience for this?_ He dug into several embarrassing fan accounts for 'all the latest updates on the last dragon! Subscribe!' until he found himself on yet another fansite, browsing a gallery labelled 'Misc'. Jaime spotted a woman _–_ a woman who definitely wasn't Cersei. She was beautiful, Jaime noted, and thin, maybe too much. _A Dornish woman._ In formal clothes and at an open event of an unspecified company, she and Rhaegar were followed by two little kids – a boy and a girl _–_ who undoubtedly looked like their spawn. _He's a dad_. _What's a father of two doing with my sister?_

And then it suddenly clicked when he saw the sigil in the corner of one of the pictures. _Dragons._ _'Fire and Blood'._ _Targaryen. THE Aerys Targaryen, and Rhaegar is his son._ _I'm so fucking dumb._ Distant memories of Tywin Lannister talking about a way to merge the two most powerful families of the nation... _shit. He actually did it, the absolute madman. Hats off for convincing that ancient basketcase, dad.  
_

Jaime closed his laptop, putting it back into his place. He needed to see Cersei. Now. He inelegantly jumped from his seat and hit his head against the roof of the car, startling both Tyrion and Bronn. _Ouch._ His brother was looking at him like he grew another head. "What in the Seven Hells has gotten into you? Want us to die young?" Tyrion was a couple of inches away from screaming directly into his face and blow off his eardrums for good.

"Say, Tyrion," Jaime asked, unfazed by his brother's outburst. "How far is Cersei's... apartment, or wherever she's staying, from our house?"

Tyrion arched an eyebrow, curious about where this was going. "It _is_ an apartment. And ten minutes, tops. Our lad Bronn could get there in five if given the right incentive. But why–"

"Drop me there." _I'm going to see her. I_ need _to see her._ Tyrion opened his mouth to retort, but Jaime was quicker. "Don't ask." _  
_

* * *

After a 'what are you even trying to accomplish right now?' and 'couldn't you just wait for one more day, you damn moron?' worded in several, but ultimately similar ways, Tyrion and Bronn left him to the side of the road and agreed to meet up later. Jaime waved at them and walked up the path to the 'fuck nest'. An annoying chill ran up his spine at his own moniker. _Why am I like this?_

The walk was short, or maybe he walked fast. It didn't matter. Once he got to the door, he knocked once. Twice. Still, no reply. But it wasn't locked and _if it's open it doesn't count as breaking and entering so_ he let himself in without any second thought.

Jaime padded carefully inside the small but lavish apartment. He studied his surroundings: a sea of black and red, with the occasional white spots. Modern furniture – a crystal table, a sofa that looked horrifyingly uncomfortable – and what looked like old family heirlooms. _Dragons with three heads._ Jaime walked blindly into unfamiliar territory until he heard light, soft sounds. Voices. He decided to follow them until he got to a door slightly left ajar. It was barely enough to glimpse at what was happening inside.

Sheets rustled. Clothes shuffled. A girl's voice, whispering, teasing. "You're going to feel good, I promise." The unmistakable sound of a zipper being roughly pulled down. A man chimed in, distress in his voice. "I don't think that's a good idea, Cersei. You know how it gets when I–"

A gasp.

Jaime couldn't see much but his eyes zeroed in on the woman's bare, slender back. _Cersei's back._ His pants felt the most constraining thing in the world. The urge to just tear themselves off his body, circumstances be damned, was maddening. _Gods, I hate clothes so fucking much right now._

Wet sounds woke him up from his reverie. Cersei had straddled the guy, obviously Rhaegar, and was sitting on his thighs _–_ the tantalizing curve of her ass in plain sight. Rhaegar let out a little groan. _She's jerking him off._ _She's definitely jerking him off._ Jaime hated to admit it, he wanted to kick himself in the balls right here and there, but the mere thought of Cersei doing that sort of thing got him so hard he could pierce a hole into his very expensive, very tight jeans. _Stay down, boy. And now I'm talking to my dick, great.  
_

He watched with rapt attention as Rhaegar slowly got up and gently pushed Cersei off his body. He slid off the bed in all his naked glory and Jaime averted his eyes. He wasn't there for him. He wasn't there for _that._ He wasn't there for any of it, and yet he couldn't move. _  
_

Jaime heard frustration in his sister's voice. "Why can't I–" He saw her throw her hands in the air. The angle was poor and he still quite couldn't see her face but he wondered which expression she was wearing right now. Hurt? Anger? "Why won't you just tell me–"

"I told you. It's not you," Rhaegar mumbled, a certain tiredness creeping into his voice. "I know how that sounds, but I don't... it's not easy, Cersei."

_What's not easy?_

Jaime didn't notice that umpteenth black marble dragon statue until he elbowed it. A thud on the carpeted floor was enough for Rheagar to shoot a curious look in his direction and get closer to the door to inspect what caused the offending noise.

_Fuck. Fuckfuckfuck.  
_

Jaime didn't think. He dashed through the apartment, nearly knocking anything that was in his way, and bolted out of the building. He ran for a couple of miles, heart threatening to burst out of his chest. _He didn't see me, did he?_ Jaime didn't dare to look back. Finally out of reach, he fetched his phone from his rear pocket and dialed Tyrion's number in a frenzy. His brother picked up at the third ring.

"Jaime? What's going on?"

"I need you to take me home. I'm at..." he looked around. "... about ten, maybe fifteen minutes from home. Twenty on foot, I think."

Jaime could hear the unspoken apology in Tyrion's voice. "I can't do it right now, Jaime. Bronn got caught up in a... predicament. He won't let me drive his car, I'm sorry bro–"

"Never mind."

Jaime ran.

* * *

It felt like ages since he had been in that house–their terribly ostentatious, gaudy, all crimson-and-gold house–but Jaime remembered everything. Despite still hating the way and the reasons he'd been sent away, he couldn't help smiling to himself. _I'm home._

He headed straight to the bathroom–getting clean was his number one priority at the moment, drenched in sweat as he was from his little escape. He threw his hoodie off his head, unceremoniously discarding it on the floor. His t-shirt and jeans followed. Jaime turned on the water, grabbed his phone and sat on the edge, waiting for the tub to fill up.

> _Twinbro here, opening this thread to give you more updates later. Came back home to the craziest. fucking. shit  
>  _

**_post proof already you goddamn larper  
_ **

**_You're getting over your head with this incest thing._ **

**_TIMESTAMP YOU MONG_ **

>   _You've earned a little something, bros  
>  _

Jaime caught sight of a bright red lipstick lying abandoned on a shelf _well now that's convenient_ and used it to write time and date on his chest. He posted the picture without any comment. _  
_

**_aaaaaaaaand he delivered!  
_ **

**_SHIT IS GETTING REAL HERE_ **

_**> posts man chest** _  
_**> thinks anyone cares** _  
_**sister pics WHEN** _

**_Nice chest hair, blondie :^)_ **

**_u seem cute, no homo_ **

Jaime smirked, pleased with himself. He licked the palm of his hand and haphazardly wiped away the remnants of lipstick still on his body.

The bathtub was full and ready; Jaime put his phone next to the sink and quickly took off his boxers, throwing them on the pile of clothes he left on the floor. The water was scalding, but the heat was welcome and soothing. He closed his eyes, enjoying the sensation of finally being able to just sit back and relax.

But the images, _those_ images, came rushing in again, relentless, taunting him: Cersei's deliciously pale back, Cersei's golden hair, Cersei's smooth thighs. The gentle curve of her ass. And then he thought of Rhaegar, handsome Rhaegar Targaryen and his _fucking_ _silver pubes_ and _stupid flaccid dragon cock._ Jaime willed himself to block that unwanted part out and his mind briefly flew to Tyrion, Bronn and whatever mess they were caught up in but before he knew it all came back to him. _Rhaegar, what a stupid name._ _What an impotent, limp dicked_ _fa_ –

"Jaime?"

A questioning voice jolted him back to reality. _Cersei._ His eyes blinked open. _  
_

"How did you... What are you doing here?" he asked, immediately regretting his choice of words. _My first words to her after so many years are 'what are you doing here'. Seven hells, I suck balls.  
_

Cersei scoffed, feigning offense. "It's not like I was on the other side of the world, don't be silly."

Jaime drank in her whole body. He'd wanted to see her so much and here she was, a grown woman, the most beautiful woman he'd ever seen. _We don't look so alike anymore_. Her jaw was sharper, her lips fuller, her figure leaner. She was clad in a pair of sinfully short shorts and a hint of cleavage spilled from her top, nipples straining against the thin fabric. _She isn't wearing a bra._ He felt himself stiffen and thanked the Gods that the water was temporarily hiding his very obvious and very troubling hard-on.

"You changed quite a bit," Cersei observed, caressing his toned upper arm. She leered at Jaime's body and gingerly trailed her fingers from his bicep, to his collarbone, to his chest, circling a nipple.

"So did you, sister," Jaime exhaled, failing to subdue the arousal in his voice. His eyes widened as Cersei's hand dipped further into the water, and almost popped out of their sockets when she absent-mindedly began to tease the tip of his flushed cock with her fingertips. "I remember when _this_ ," she accentuated the word with a light squeeze, "was only a little worm between your legs". She chuckled. "But you were so excited to show me, Jaime. Remember that night?" _How could I ever forget?_

Cersei's hand dived lower, now resting on Jaime's left thigh and dangerously close to his painfully erect cock. He suppressed the moan that threatened to leave his throat.

"Am I beautiful, Jaime?" she breathed, her voice taking an uncharacteristically small tone.

"You know you are, Cersei."

"Don't do this," she pushed his chest abruptly, his back hitting the tub. "Do _you_ think I'm beautiful, Jaime?"

Jaime crossed his arms, straight-faced, acting as if he wasn't suffering from a massive case of blue balls and tethering on the brink of lust-induced insanity. "Why ask when you already know?"

"More than Elia Martell? More than Lyanna Stark?" she almost pleaded. Jaime wasn't used to seeing his sister so vulnerable. He didn't even know who those women were, or why Cersei even cared. _He_ didn't care. The answer would always be the same, anyway.

"You're the most beautiful woman in the world," Jaime said, matter-of-factly and final. "You will always be. To me. To anyone."

Cersei grinned at him. Seemingly satisfied, she retracted her hand from the now lukewarm water.

"Welcome back, Jaime." She sauntered out of the bathroom, heading God knows where.

The door clicked shut, and Jaime christened the bathtub.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tl;dr hurt my dominant arm and wrote half of this one-handed and on painkillers.  
> Shoot me a comment so I know what I'm doing.


End file.
